Rhymes and Reasons
by Secret Weapon
Summary: It's Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. Tom rhymes and Harry reasons. Part of the Convalescently Yours... Tom Marvolo Riddle Universe.


6 of 6

**17 Feb 2006**

**Title: Rhymes and Reasons**

**Series: _Convalescently Yours… Tom Marvolo Riddle_**

**Rating: PG – 13 (For Swearing and Subtext)**

**Summary: It's Valentines Day at Hogwarts. Tom rhymes and Harry reasons.**

**Timeframe: Set much before _The Perils of Play Acting._ Tom's PoV.**

**A/N: Written for Valentine's Day Challenge at hxtlightening. See end of story A/N for the challenge. **

**Disclaimers: Everyone and everything belongs to JKR. **

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**Rhymes and Reasons**

It's **Valentine**'s Day and for some reason Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, has decided that it's a good idea to have a party.

"Humph!" says Snape, when he comes up to replenish the healing potions which he does every Tuesday. "Don't we have enough rampaging hormones as it is? Why the headmaster must encourage them is beyond me! And a Hogsmeade weekend to top it off! All we're doing is putting out a message that it's ok for them to – to – er – pop their **cherries** – so to speak."

He's gone **scarlet** by the end of his little rant and Pomphrey just smiles at him amused, and continues hanging up **red** and pink streamers. "Now Severus, not in front of the children."

I scowl at her. "I'm not a child," I say. "And the last time I checked there was only one of me. And not that anyone's interested but I agree with the Prince of Doom. It's a stupid holiday."

Pomphrey tuts and Snape looks even more dour than usual. But they ignore me as usual and go about their business.

I think everyone's been ordered to be as tolerant of me as possible. I'm trying to see how long it takes for them to snap. It's hardly the most mature of pastimes but I get so bored.

"I bet you're just bitter because you have nobody to loooove," I say to Snape.

"_Won't someone be my Valentine?_

_Poor Snapey-poo complains_

_In my dungeon are lotions,_

_Aphrodisiac potions_

_And **handcuffs** with all sorts of chains."_

There's a peal of laughter from the door and Weasley and Granger come in supporting Gina or Ginny or whatever her name is – the Weasley girl. She seems to have broken or sprained her ankle or something. Weasley is the one who's laughing. Snape has turned an interesting shade of purple.

"That's enough Thomas," snaps Pomphrey. "Oh dear what have you done?" The last bit is addressed to the Weasley girl.

Snape glowers at Weasley who's still doubled over with laughter. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" he hisses and strides out with as much dignity as he can muster.

"Oh Ron!" says Granger reproachfully and looks at me the way you'd look at a puppy who's just made a puddle on the floor.

"It was worth it," says Weasley and hands his sister over to the nurse. "That was classic," he says to me. "Even better than Ginny's Valentine to Harry in 2nd year."

A little Snape bashing and it seems that I've gone up in his estimation. Trusting souls, this lot.

"He thought up that Valentine," snarls Ginny, pointing at me. "Well, the diary anyway."

Right. Now I'm interested. But best not overdo it. Don't want to spook the children before I get any information out of them.

"What Valentine?" I ask.

Weasley snickers,

"_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord," _he sings over his sister's protests.

"You wrote that?" asks Granger incredulously.

I shrug. "Sounds like something I'd think of as a joke," I say. "I shouldn't think it was that hard to stomach. I can't believe she actually sent it."

"I was eleven," the girl in question says through gritted teeth as Pomphrey sets her ankle. "And _you_ are evil."

"Voldemort's a poet," mutters Granger. "Nothing will ever surprise me again."

"That's hardly poetry," say Ginny annoyed. To be fair, I agree with her. "I'm done, let's go."

They troop out. I'm rather annoyed that once again I haven't been able to get any closer to finding out the details of what it is I'm supposed to have done and what has happened to me.

Weasley comes back a few minutes later.

"Can you do one of those for Malfoy?" he asks without preamble.

Hmm, this is new. I would have never taken him to fly the other side of the Quidditch pitch. "You want me to write you a Valentine for Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore got those singing elves in. He's been in a very good mood since you were found. Think of it as payback for tripping me up last week. I'll get you some blood **lollipops** from Hogsmeade for it or whatever you evil types like."

"Oh for fucks sake, Weasley, the way you lot go on you'd think I eat kittens for breakfast and dance around corpses. I'll write your Valentine if you get me some chocolate."

"**Chocolate**?" he asks suspiciously. "That's all you want?"

"What I want and what I can have are two different things." It's true. The amount of perfectly harmless things that have been confiscated are just silly. I'm not even allowed a quill because I could literally take someone's eye out with it. I'll admit it's a tempting thought but I'm not that stupid.

"I like chocolate," I say defensively. "And make sure it's dark. None of this kiddie stuff they hand out here with too much sugar in it."

"Fine," says Weasley sounding a little mystified. "You got yourself a deal."

I think for a couple of minutes. "Ok I've got one. Write this down.

"_The question for Draco is whether_

_He likes to be dressed up in** leather**_

_And if the use of **whipped cream**_

_Would cause him to scream_

_And bring him to the end of his tether_

"That should be suitably embarrassing," I say as Weasley chortles.

"Too right," he says. "You're good at this."

"Don't forget my chocolate," I yell after him as he leaves.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Potter comes to see me just after lunch while Pomphrey's away.

"So you're a poet now?" he says. "Your Valentines have been causing quite a stir."

"I am not now nor have I ever been a poet," I say. "Annoying people is just my speciality."

"I thought getting people to like you was your speciality."

"Same difference."

He ponders this for a few seconds. "I've never thought of it that way before."

"Do you want one too, then?" I say, "It'll cost you."

He snorts derisively. "What, more chocolate?"

"No,** roses** and **champagne**. I lurve you, Harry Potter. Be my Valentine!"

He stares at me, "What's bitten you?"

That must have come out more bitter than I intended. Damn! I'm losing my touch. It's just being so on edge all the time.

"What's it to you what I want?" I retort. "You know I'm not allowed to have anything here. And so what if I want sweets in exchange for something? Besides Weasley's getting me the sort of chocolate I like. You can get me some butterbeer."

"Butterbeer?"

"I'd say something stronger but they'd only take it away and where's the fun in that? Who's it for then?"

"Who's what for?"

Bloody hell, how did someone this thick manage to defeat me? Several times from what I hear. I am deeply, deeply ashamed.

"The Valentine, you idiot."

"Oh!" he says, "I don't want you to write one for me. The only people I'd really want one for are Malfoy and Snape and you've done them."

Oh. Right. So he's just come to chat. I know there are days that I'm quite glad for his sympathy but there haven't been any tests or questions today and I'm not in the mood.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, you know somewhere far away?"

"Not really, I have some free time - Am I bothering you?"

Always so considerate. It's nauseating. "Yes."

"Good."

"Huh?" Oh that was articulate. Well, done Riddle.

"Look Riddle, I'm not a complete idiot. Just because I go easy on you when everyone is giving you a hard time doesn't mean that I forget who you are for a second. Dumbledore says you deserve a second chance and I'll go along with that because otherwise I wont be any better than you are – were."

"Oh boo-hoo. I've been a bad, bad boy. Spank me soundly and send me to bed." As if I don't have enough melodrama and oh shit, he's smirking. That came out all wrong.

"Is that what you like, then? I never did take you for the roses and champagne type."

"Ha ha. Speaking of which, why don't you go and look for a date to this dance-ball-party-thing. I'm sure there should be a couple of girls who haven't been asked and are desperate enough to go with you as a last resort."

"I'm taking Luna Lovegood. As a friend." He adds hurriedly.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," I say. "Let me explain about Valentine's day. There is no such thing as just friends when it comes to this particular day. What about little Miss Weasley?"

"I don't like her that way. And she's going with Dean."

"Granger?"

"She's going with Ron."

Ah I see now. He's been relegated to the decidedly unglamorous status of third wheel. No wonder he spends so much time in here.

"No other pretty girl would have you then? Or boy for that matter if you're so inclined."

He blushes. Now this is interesting. Maybe I've hit a nerve.

"Anyone else would assume I'm madly in love with them. Luna's safe. She understands"

How boring.

"You're boring," I say. "Girls love a hero. They love wounded orphans too! Anyone with half a brain cell would realise that lots of them must be **sweet **on you. Little Weasley would gladly give you her** heart**."

"That's just it," say Potter, rather sadly. "I don't want someone who likes me because I'm a hero. I want someone who likes me for me."

Oh here we go. Cue the sentimental music.

"I suppose you were screwing people left, right and centre," he says. Is it my imagination or does he sound jealous? I wonder if – Oh stop being so conceited, Riddle. He's jealous because he wants to see all the action he thought you got not because he wants to get busy with you.

"Wounded orphan routine, was it?"

"I don't need routines," says I. "I attract admirers like moths to a flame. People would kill to get between my sheets."

"Made of black **satin**, no less?"

Black satin! What has this boy been reading?

"No, no, satin is far too slippery to have any fun.** Silk **is the fabric of choice. It's much more sensual."

"I see. I suppose you made a habit of deflowering lusty young virgins every night."

Now I definitely know he's been reading trashy romance novels with badly written sex. With references to "quivering manhoods" and other such rubbish.

"Virgins are no fun," I say with all seriousness. Might as well indulge him. "They have no idea what to do and are altogether too shy. For a really good time, you want a girl who has no qualms about** blindfold**ing you and dripping hot **candle wax** down your chest."

He bursts out laughing.

"You really are a virgin, aren't you?"

I bristle. "So are you."

"That isn't a denial. How come? I'd have thought you'd have used it to your advantage if nothing else."

Brat. Who does he think he is coming in here trying to get to know me?

"Yeah sure, Potter. I'd give it away for **candy**, I would."

"Oh I see. You're afraid. That's why you want people to fear you I suppose. Because you're so afraid all the time. Afraid to die. Afraid to** love**."

Wonderful. Another psychoanalyst. Just what I needed. If I had my wand I'd – don't let him see he's annoyed you, Riddle. Keep your temper.

"A virgin is someone who doesn't give a fuck," I quip. "It has nothing to do with love. A **kiss** is just a kiss and a fuck is just a fuck. And it's not like I haven't done stuff. Just not the actual act. The 40's aren't - I mean weren't, as – er – liberal, you know."

He smiles at me. "Believe that if you like but therein lies your problem. That's why you always lose. Because you don't care enough. You may be ruthless but it's not enough. You'll never know true passion, true urgency because you're too afraid. You'll never know true hate because you can never know true love. I'll bet you were a great lover. You would have known all the tricks, tantric sex, erotic **massage**s, whatever; but even your lovemaking would be calculated. It was probably just an exercise for you – you never had one **moan** of true passion in your life. The truth is your main driving force is fear and that, _my Lord, _is why you'll always just be Tom Marvolo Riddle, no matter how many new anagrams you invent for yourself."

"Fuck you!"

"Maybe later, Riddle. I have a ball to get ready for. Happy Valentine's day!"

And he's gone.

I **shiver** and move closer to fire where it's **warm**. Fucking Harry Potter. Always so sure of himself. If anyone has a complex it's him - effing hero. What a load of absolute bollocks! Utter tosh!

I feel cold.

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**A/N : The Challenge was to incorporate one or more of the following words into a fanfic. I got all of them. Go me! **

**Valentine, Warm/Warmth, Chocolate, Sweet, Heart, Virgin, Scarlet/Red, Lollipop, Whipped Cream, Handcuffs, Shiver, Moan, Satin, Silk, Cherry/Cherries, Champagne, Kiss, Leather, Massage, Roses, Blindfold, Candle Wax, Candy, Want, Love**


End file.
